


What Goes Up, Ghost Around

by alienharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends With Benefits, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 11:40:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16174337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienharry/pseuds/alienharry
Summary: Harry and Louis have a habit of falling into each other time and time again. Harry thinks he'd be more angry if it wasn't so good.





	What Goes Up, Ghost Around

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from _Ghost/Haunted_ by Beyonce

It’s half past eleven, everybody around him is sufficiently fucked up and having a great time, but Harry can’t seem to join in on the fun. There’s something missing, he thinks to himself, something that’s making the time drag by slowly as he nurses his drink.

It’s Halloween - or really, five days before Halloween - and for some reason, he thought it’d be a good idea to go to Liam’s party sans costume. He’s gotten some glares, some insults, and a first year actually had the audacity to pinch him as though it was Saint Patrick’s Day and he wasn’t wearing green.

Needless to say, he wishes he’d never come to this stupid party.

In his hand sits the same drink he’d poured himself upon arriving an hour and a half ago. It’s a toxic mixture of tequila and lemonade he hadn’t realized would taste as bad as it does. Liam’s already told him twice it smells like gasoline, but Harry’s not giving up until he finishes it. He’s not a quitter.

He’s taken up a permanent resting point against the living room wall, watching as everybody else has a great time. They’re all dressed in costume - some more creative as others - as they dance and flirt and make something of their time. Again, Harry’s struck with the thought that there’s something missing from his night.

For a moment, Harry’s considering just giving up, wondering if half a cup of liquor is enough for him to say he’s ‘partied’. He kind of just wants to go home and watch _Hocus Pocus_ again in his pyjamas.  

It’d definitely beat what he’s doing know.

Across the room though, something pulls his attention and makes him suddenly glad he’d stayed. Harry sees an angel, he _really_ sees an angel. Dressed in head to toe white, a halo sitting atop his head, there’s an angel facing away from him. The only thing blocking him from seeing the lad’s face are the large, glittered wings on his back, completing the look and really grasping Harry’s focus.

There’s something about his style, his vibe, that pulls Harry in. But most of all, there’s something about his _arse_ , the curve of it far too sinful for such a heavenly creature.

In his head, Harry debates the risk of introducing himself and wonders whether it’d be worth introducing himself. Part of him wants to make a move, but the other, more rational part of his brain, knows that there’s someone else on his mind that’ll keep him from fully enjoying himself.

 _Fuck it_ , Harry thinks to himself as he downs the rest of his drink, wincing as it burns in the worst way. He throws it towards the trash, missing by a mile.

He walks over to the angel, not recognizing the people around him. Harry doesn’t care though, he’s the only interesting thing to happen since Harry’d gotten to the party, and he’s taking this chance regardless of the guy’s friends.

When he’s as close as he can get without touching the guy’s wings and messing them up, Harry leans in close. “What time do you have to be back in Heaven?”

The angel turns towards Harry at the line, and for a moment, he looks annoyed. It doesn’t last, though. The moment he makes eye contact with Harry, the purse of his lips loosens and he smiles a shit-eating grin that has Harry’s hands clenching at his sides. “ _Harry Styles_ ,” he breathes. “Well look at you, love.”

It was too good to be true, Harry knows, groaning as he recognizes the angel. He regrets ever leaving the house this morning, ever thinking this would be a good idea.

“I thought you were an angel,” Harry tells him. “I should’ve remembered that Satan was an angel too.”

Louis Tomlinson laughs something bright, beautiful, and distracting. “You always knew how to sweet talk a lad, didn’t you.” He’s looking at Harry under his eyelashes, so damn pretty it’s infuriating.

Harry’s complicated history with Louis began in their first year at uni. There was a welcoming event in their dorm that introduced them to each other. Louis had accidentally spilled his punch on Harry’s white jeans and from there they’d started a bit of a rivalry. One that started with Harry feeling a strong, all encompassing rage and ending with them in bed together.  

It was supposed to be a one-off, something that occured because Harry was frustrated and Louis was beautiful and more than interested in him. But it happened again after the championship rugby game. And on the first day back from winter hols. And a week after that for no reason other than Harry was a horny first year and Louis had an arse that wouldn’t quit.  

If Harry could stop it, he would, but there’s something about Louis that’s so absolutely intoxicating, Harry finds himself losing all semblance of control. He keeps telling himself it’s never happening again, but then Louis gets in his head, infuriates him, and they’re falling into bed together.

“Why are you even here?” Harry asks, letting his anger bleed into his tone. Of all the people in the party, _Louis_ is the one that managed to pull Harry’s attention. “Don’t you have children to scare to dalmation to make a coat from?”

“I hardly know what you mean.” Louis takes a drink out of his cup, still smiling as though this is just a casual encounter between friends and not the biting feud of two enemies. “I’m just enjoying a party at my good friend Liam’s house.”

“Liam doesn’t like you.”

He shakes his head, unaffected by Harry’s insult. “Liam likes everybody, love. I think it’s _you_ that doesn’t like me.”

It’s not like he’s not wrong about that. Louis just has this effortless way of staying calm under pressure, and it makes Harry want to throttle him. It’s like he’s completely unaffected by Harry. Meanwhile, Harry can’t even enjoy a party without the older lad finding his way into the center of his focus.

Louis isn’t wrong, he’s spot on. But Harry doesn’t know what to say that won’t make him seem irrational in his anger, so he rolls his eyes and makes to walk away.

“Now where are you off to?” Louis asks, his voice carefree. “Clearly you didn’t have anything better to do if you’re hitting on innocent partygoers.”

“You aren’t innocent.”

He extends his arms out and gestures down to his costume, eyes glistening with mischief in the lowlight of the party. “I am free of sin, Harry Styles. I’m an angel in its purest form.”

Behind him, his friends seem to have disappeared. It leaves Louis standing against a wall as he announces his purity, looking more than a bit ridiculous. _Good_ , Harry thinks. It’s what he deserves.

“You’re incorrigible.”

Louis gasps through a wide smile. He sings, “Big words big words,” as he jumps a bit on his toes. “I don’t remember you having such a sharp tongue.” Harry purses his lips, knowing what’s coming next. “Or actually - maybe I do.”

“Good _bye_ , Louis.”

As he’s turning, feeling the rage soak into his bones, he hears Louis’ faint, “Meet you upstairs.”

Harry rolls his eyes, telling himself he won’t be tempted. It’s a trap he’s fallen into before, but he’s better than that. He’s better than hate sex with his enemy, a quick fuck just to keep himself from punching somebody.

He decides to go and dance, to enjoy the party as he should’ve been from the start. He’s still far too sober to feel completely comfortable in the masses, but he tries regardless. Anything to his mind off of the five foot seven nuisance that thinks a nice arse and long eyelashes are enough to get Harry into bed.

On the dancefloor - or really, Liam’s living room floor - Harry finds himself crowding behind a girl he’s never seen before. He lets her take the lead, moving his hips along with her as the feel the beat. It’s filthy, the way they’re moving, but Harry can’t even properly enjoy himself. Across the room, he sees Louis, still standing at the same place Harry left him, watching Harry try and dance with a stranger, a smirk on his face like he knows he’s all Harry can think about.

Knowing it’s a pointless endeavor, Harry continues dancing with the girl for the next few songs before he resigns to the fact that he’s never going to be able to win the battle in his own mind. He thanks her for the dance and leaves the room, searching for a safe place to distance himself from the chaos of the party.

He finds himself in an empty bedroom, head in his hands, frustrated in himself for letting Louis get the better of him.

Behind him, the door shuts, and Harry turns to face the last person he wants to see, but the only person he was going to end up with, smirking at him. “Fancy running into you here.”

Harry rolls his eyes. Louis has him right where he wants him - in the palm of his hand, and Harry’s mad. He can’t believe he thought for even a moment that his night wouldn’t end with him and Louis making another mistake.

He walks over to Louis, backing him against the door and latching it behind him. They’re upstairs, in Liam’s room, and the chances of someone walking in on them are slim to none, but Harry’s taking precautions. He needs to get Louis on the bed, lay him out, and fuck the smug right off his pretty little face.

If this is where the night took them, then so be it, but Harry refuses to give up all of his power.

He leans it, kissing Louis, who responds eagerly, smiling against his lips. Harry takes control, licks his way inside the angel’s mouth, yet Louis still reacts like it’s exactly what he’d planned.

It’s how it always is, familiar in a way that aches and burns.

They fall into bed together, shedding their clothing, taking their time to ensure Louis’ costume stays intact. There’s a gentleness that he doesn’t deserve, but Harry’d be a liar if he said he didn’t have a weak spot for Louis.

 

When they’re done, lying next to each other, both sated in a way that only comes from knowing each other’s bodies as well as they do, Louis turns to Harry, breathless. “How do we always end up here?”

It’s something Harry’s asked himself a thousand times before. How do they fall into each other so often and so heavily? There’s no half-arsing with it, and no avoiding that fate keeps pushing them together. Even when neither of them try, they’re both naked and satisfied within the first few hours of seeing each other.

Louis’ his weakness, he knows. It’s something he’ll never admit, something that in saying, there would be a softness in his tone. He likes to think he hates Louis, but there’s only so much anger he can hold after the best sex of his life with someone he’s infuriatingly compatible with.  

“You’re a fucking addiction,” Harry eventually says, figuring it’s best to be honest, even if he spits the words to make them seem angrier than they really are.

“That I am,” Louis agrees with a laugh. “One you don’t wanna quit.”

It’s true, but Harry doesn’t say it. He also doesn’t say that Louis can’t quit him either. It’s too close to emotions for the good thing they’ve got going.

“Do you always have to talk so much afterwards?”

“Of course I do,” Louis confirms. “If I don’t rile you up, how else will I get you in bed again?” Harry’s only pretending to be angry at this point, letting his forehead crinkle, ignoring the insinuation that Louis’ purposefully leading them there. Louis uses his thumb to smooth out the lines. “I should go.”

He stands up then, letting the sheets fall away from him. He’s completely shameless in his nudity as he pulls his white jeans on. His shirt and halo follow suit, and Harry watches, hypnotized by the way his body moves. He’s soft, Harry notices, but there’s a strength underneath - a strength Harry just had under his hands.

A strength he has under his hands more often than not nowadays.

Louis turns then, holding his wings out towards Harry, silently asking for help. Harry helps, of course, being gentle as he slides the straps neatly over Louis’ shoulder.

“Championship party in three weeks,” Louis tells him, slipping his vans on his feet. “I’ll see you there?”

“Maybe…”

“Maybe, is it?” He raises his eyebrow, taking a step closer to where Harry’s kneeling on the bed, resting in the same place Louis’ just vacated. “Well then _maybe_ I’ll wear that thing you like.” He lowers his voice and adds, “That baby blue _thing_ with the white bow.”

Harry feels his eyes narrow without his permission. “Don’t tease me.”

“Oh, but Harry Styles. Isn’t that what I do best?” Louis leans in slowly and kisses his nose. Harry crinkles it reflexively, and Louis laughs at how disgruntled he looks, leaving the room without saying anything else.

Harry huffs, falling against the pillows. He has no doubt in his mind they’ll be doing this again.

And soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on:  
> [Twitter](http://twitter.com/sapphicbee) | [Tumblr](http://fourdrunksluts.tumblr.com)


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